What Price Glory? Lynn Yaeger’s Adventures in Discount Shopping

“What I’ve found does the most good is just to get into a taxi and go to Tiffany’s,” Truman Capote’s Holly Golightly once memorably observed, describing the magical power of that famous store. “It calms me down right away, the quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there.”

And in fact, who among us has not, when the “mean reds,” as Holly called them, descend, sought shelter and respite in a favorite shop, a temple of peace and possibility in a sometimes far too cold world? In honor of the Broadway opening this week of Breakfast at Tiffany’s starring Emilia Clarke, we decide to visit the legendary Fifth Avenue flagship, where Holly stood outside with her coffee at dawn, and see what could be bought today by the sort of young lady who once arrived in this town with barely any visible means of support and seemed to survive on generous powder-room tips given to her by gentlemen friends. (Of course, these days, we know this intrepid woman would have a real job of her own.)

As it turns out, there are plenty of stylish items available far beyond the engraving desk where Holly and George Peppard had that Cracker Jack ring monogrammed. In fact, in Tiffany’s eyes, there is clearly no shame attached to limited resources: On the third floor, where the silver jewelry resides, one showcase is even divided into sections featuring items clearly labeled “Under $150,” “$250,” and “$350.”

All of the above are very nice, and come in that robin’s egg blue box, which brings enormous added value to even the most trifling purchase. But for our money, it is the vast plethora of charms with the legend “Please Return to Tiffany & Co. New York” that holds power over our hearts (and purse strings). We are frankly torn between this charm dangling from a delicate onyx bead bracelet for $150 and the earthier oval I.D. version for $275. But fantasies that this bijou, should it slip off your wrist, might be popped in the mailbox by an honest stranger and find its way back to you are soon dashed—when the saleswoman is asked whether these plaques are numbered, and if the store keeps a registry, she smiles at our naiveté and shakes her head: Like so much of Holly’s New York, this lovely tradition has vanished in the mists of time. “We used to do that,” she says. “But no, not anymore. Not for a long while.”